


Fight tooth and nail

by Snoozydog



Series: Sleeping arrangements [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fist Fights, Jealous John, M/M, Possessive Behavior, jealous lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 05:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17719145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snoozydog/pseuds/Snoozydog
Summary: John and Lestrade come face to face finally and old resentments as well as new ones surface with dramatic results.





	Fight tooth and nail

He wasn't sure how he ended up in here but from what he could remember it had all started with Lestrade coming by.

Sherlock was out for once and John had come home from the clinic late.  
He had slumped down in his chair, enjoying a plate of baked beans and some Kabanos sausages, ready to turn the tv on and just relax. 

It had been a couple of hectic days lately. He and Sherlock had been working a case that ended around a week ago and straight after that he had gone to do a couple of shifts at the clinic, working full days filling in for some of the regular staff who were bedridden with the flu. 

It was good to work, it kept his thoughts from wandering into the dark corners or his mind and it also helped stave off the green-eyed monster called Jealousy that had been plaguing him lately at all hours of the day. 

Things between him and Sherlock had almost been normal during the week, as normal as living with someone like Sherlock Holmes ever could be.  
The detective had spent a few days coming down from the high of the case, working on some experiments in the flat, playing his violin and just basically relaxing in that way that didn’t mean relaxing to anyone else but clearly worked for him.  
Then he had been off to Bart’s a whole day and now he was apparently out again, but John was too tired and hungry to give it any serious thought.  
Sherlock never left notes when he went somewhere, didn’t see the point, and despite John nagging him about it in the beginning even he had given up, relying on the phone and Sherlock’s mood if he was going to get an answer or not. 

Top Gear was on, the sausages were great and John felt his general mood improve as he relaxed in his comfortable chair.  
Downstairs he could hear the doorbell, followed by Mrs Hudson’s voice resonating but unable to make out any exact words. He just wished it wasn't a client, because he felt knackered. 

For a second he thought he was off the hook as silence settled once again downstairs, but a few minutes later there was the unmistakable sound of steps coming up the stairs with a resigned trepidation. _Shit, there goes the evening_ , he thought with a sigh.

As the door finally opened and highlighted the unmistakable figure of Gregory Lestrade, the evening went from slightly irritating to full blazing bad within seconds. Shit indeed.

John hated the man with a passion and was fairly certain the feeling was mutual.  
That hadn’t always been the case and sometime, back in the early days, they had perhaps even had a sort of respect and understanding between them.  
Before John found out that the grey-haired _much_ older, not that very fit (and what had Sherlock ever seen in him??) detective inspector had slept with his flatmate come boyfriend. 

If Lestrade truly ever had liked John was questionable, seeing as he had all the facts in hand from the beginning, maybe he had only been good at pretending and now there certainly wasn’t much love lost between them.

John always made a point of making sure the man from Scotland Yard made no mistake as to who Sherlock belonged to and despite sometimes feeling that his jealousy was a source for some embarrassment and insecurity, that was never the case when it came to Lestrade, who he felt needed to be reminded of this fact more than anyone else. 

So if John’s hand grabbed Sherlock’s a little firmer on crime scenes or if he ended up almost sitting in his boyfriend’s lap on account of their proximity, it was for the benefit of Lestrade never _ever_ making the mistake of thinking Sherlock Holmes would be available for him. 

As the man now marred the doorway to their Baker Street living room John wasn’t late to frown his face in obvious displeasure and openly show his hostility towards the man, despite the fact that he hadn’t yet uttered a single word.

Lestrade looked uncomfortable but at least had the decency to not look unfriendly.  
Actually he seemed tired and unsure, like he wished he could be anywhere else but here if fate hadn’t forced him to climb the seventeen steps up to the flat and face an incensed former army doctor and very possessive partner of the consulting detective Lestrade likely would have preferred to have clapped his eyes on when entering the flat.  
Mrs Hudson must have informed him of Sherlock’s temporary absence and yet he had braved the climb to face John instead.  
The man was obviously desperate, or he would have turned in the door.

John glared at him. 

Patiently Lestrade met his glare and then stepped inside, making John’s nostril flare in provocation.  
They stared at each other for a good full minute before Lestrade sighed in exasperation and threw his hands out in a gesture of impatience.

“What exactly is it you want from me, John?”

“Nothing,” John immediately snapped back but Lestrade shook his head.

“Clearly you do. I have never done you any wrong doing and yet you treat me like I owe you something. I’m here for Sherlock as you very well know…”

“Oh, believe me, I do! And that is exactly my problem with you! Your constant skulking in the shadows, wherever I turn there you are. It’s worse than that mouldy spot in the corner of our refrigerator that I always foolishly think I have managed to get rid off, but then magically reappears as soon as I close the door and is the first thing I spot again when opening it the next time. Like you, that mouldy spot is connected to Sherlock, and I wish I could delegate it to be his problem instead. But since he has no problem with either of you, the problem remains with me.”

If his voice had a tone of barb to it, so what? He was done tiptoeing around the subject anymore.  
Apparently Lestrade had as well because he stepped even further into the room, now looming over John’s chair. 

“I’m not here to steal your boyfriend so get over yourself. How many bans you might put up around him, you can’t keep him from his work, and since I’m part of that work you’ll just have to suck it up and accept my presence. Believe me, you’re no joy to be around either, but I’m doing it because it’s my job and because Sherlock is my friend.”

“Oh, friends now are you? Funny, he’s never mentioned it. Pretty sure he’s said he doesn’t go in for having friends.”

“Step off your high horse, Watson. You know what I mean. I’ve known him far longer than you have and when you’re out of the picture again I’ll still be here. Like I always am.”

John pushed himself out of his chair with anger.

“Oh, planning to get rid of me then?”

“I will hardly need to, you’re doing an excellent job of that yourself! He doesn’t like your jealousy, it’s embarrassing!”

“No, what’s embarrassing around here is you! Hanging around every opportunity you get, waiting for any crumb he’s willing to through you. Too bad he’s already had you and spit you out again. Clearly not his taste - old washed-out has-been with a failed marriage in the rear-view mirror and a lonely future to look forward to!”

Lestrade looked like he had been slapped across the face and John could feel the sizzle of triumph in his chest for a second.  
It felt good to finally be able to let some of his resentment out in the open. He had been dying to say something for a long time now but the opportunity hadn’t presented itself until now. 

Stupid bastard, coming here, sniffing around what clearly belonged to John!

“As far as I understand it, Sherlock has never forbid me coming over, quite the opposite. With me at least he gets some excitement on offer instead of this dreary domesticity scene with your sorry excuse of existence as his live-in doctor and housekeeper,” came the waspy reply.

John could feel his knuckle connect with Lestrade’s jaw before his mind was up to speed and he could reflect on his own actions.  
The pain radiating through his hand competed with the satisfaction he felt blossoming in his chest when he saw Lestrade stumble backwards. Before he had the chance to regain his balance John was over him again, this time with both hands ready as well as one of his legs, aiming for a well-intended spot on the older man’s shin. 

“You stay the fuck away from him, you hear!” he growled as he grabbed a full fist of Lestrade’s shirt, pushing him against the wall.  
Despite being much taller and heavier as well, Lestrade was surprisingly bad at fighting back. Or at least that was what John thought at first.  
Later, when he was thinking more clearly, he could see the strategy of not putting up that much of a resistance, when Lestrade had managed to call for assistance and two sturdy police officers came to take John with them down to the car waiting down on the street.  
But still being in full fight mode it felt glorious. All the pent-up rage he had been feeling the past couple of weeks whenever he saw Lestrade skulking around Sherlock like a predator was now being unleashed as his fists rained down over the other man.  
He could sense blood pouring from the other man’s nose, but it didn’t stop him, he just continued giving as well as he could. 

“You stay away, you hear me! I don’t want to see your face around him anymore!”

“You won’t be able to stop me! He calls me you know, begging for cases. Pretty sure he doesn’t beg you for _anything_!” Lestrade retorted.

And John punched him hard over the mouth, swearing he could feel a tooth come off in the process.  
He had never felt this kind of rage before, but it was strangely satisfying to unleash it, no matter the consequences.

What finally made Lestrade free to call for back-up was the interference of Mrs Hudson, suddenly standing in the doorway shouting.  
John lost his focus for a second and froze when seeing her, enough of a time frame for Lestrade to whip out his phone and dial.

“What’s going on here?!” she yelled while Lestrade talked into his phone and John could se the damage they, or he rather, had done to the place, with furniture turned over, a lamp in shambles on the floor, Sherlock’s precious collection of Guns & Ammo in a scattered mess around their feet. And Lestrade looking like he had stepped inside a boxing ring unprepared, blood pouring from is nose, bruises forming on his face, a rip in his shirt where John had grabbed it with all his force.  
And despite seeing all this and his landlady’s shocked facial expression he couldn’t feel nothing but satisfaction. 

The bastard had gagged for it, hadn’t he? 

Coming here, provoking John in his own home.  
He almost wished he could snap a picture and send it to Sherlock, wherever he was as the moment, show off his masterpiece. 

Sadly no one else was of the same opinion and it didn’t take more than a few minutes before Lestrade’s back-up came rushing up the stairs, grabbing John by the arms as he was still in full swinging mode, cuffing him with his hands behind his back and frogmarching him down to their car.

This was the reason why he was now sitting in a holding cell, rotting away, waiting for someone to come and release him.  
He was not going to apologize despite being charged with assault and while still unsure how Sherlock would view the events of the evening he couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction when he saw Lestrade’s battered face in front of him.  
He had been given a thorough lesson and if he was still stupid enough to try continue working with Sherlock, at least he wouldn’t be so foolish as to try stepping foot inside their home again. For now that was reward enough.

When he finally was released on bail and passed the desk on his way out, he saw Lestrade standing behind the discharge officer, following his movements in silence.  
There was a challenge in his eyes but when john gave him one of his blazing looks in response, his gaze quickly shifted away.

_That’s right_ , John thought as he continued walking, back straight, fists clenched, ready to throw a punch if provoked, stepping out to the car waiting for him on the kerb. _you keep averting your gaze from now on._


End file.
